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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964169">Happy Birthday Mr President</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraufi666/pseuds/fraufi666'>fraufi666</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Morrison Saga [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Political RPF - Australian 20th-21st c., Political RPF - US 21st c.</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Authority Figures, Birthday, Coercion, Dominance, Drama, Handcuffs, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Political Alliances, Politics, Power Play, Submission, Whipping</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:20:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,775</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23964169</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraufi666/pseuds/fraufi666</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Being invited to the birthday party of the president, Scott Morrison hopes that an expensive present will win the president over for a closer alliance. Although he tries his absolute best to impress Donald Trump, nothing he does is ever good enough. Boris Johnson continually outshines his best of efforts, making him completely jealous of Trump's preferential treatment. Will Morrison finally get the outcome he wants, or will he (and Australia) get left behind?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Boris Johnson/Donald Trump, Scott Morrison/Donald Trump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Morrison Saga [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2159421</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Happy Birthday Mr President</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: This story is an AU. Although I have used real people and political figures this is entirely a work of fiction. All romantic encounters, events and insinuations are from my imagination. I mean no disrespect to any of the people depicted. I am also in no way politically biased. </p><p>This fanfiction was initially going to be named "A Surprise for the President"</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Heart racing, palms perspiring, he counted down the seconds as the hand moved to the twelve on his Tag.</p><p>"Get a hold of yourself, you're the Prime Minister!" Scott Morrison chided to himself. He felt his body shake as the aeroplane began to land on the tarmac.</p><p>"We'll just get him something duty free." Jenny said calmly, her perfectly manicured nails rubbing up against his wrist. He moved away, pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose as they slipped down from the turbulence.</p><p>"No that won't do." Morrison responded in dismay, looking away from his wife. "It's meant to be for the President."</p><p>The First Lady raised an eyebrow in bewilderment at her husband, “You do realise we are going to see Donald Trump? Does it really matter what you get him? The man is bonkers. He would be happy with anything.”</p><p>The Prime Minister clenched his fists, “I must get him something that will show the Australian nation are America’s greatest ally.” He tried to justify to himself. With the help of some well-dressed flight attendants, the Prime Minister and his wife were escorted out of business class, their luggage taken care of already. In front of the Reagan National Airport, their limousine, complete with the Australian flag was waiting for the couple. The Morrisons continued to squabble amongst themselves as they climbed in.<br/><br/>“Darling,” Jenny sighed, “You are not still beating yourself up over the present you got for Her Majesty?”</p><p>Morrison felt his cheeks burn as he remembered handing the Queen a cheap tartan bag with a book on Thoroughbreds as a birthday present. * Her scornful eyes said it all even though she did not say a word.<br/><br/>“This is why we must get him something of substance!” Cried Morrison. He tapped on the barrier to alert the driver, “Please, take us to the most expensive shop you can find!”</p><p>“Sure thing.” The driver replied obligingly and took off as quickly as possible. It was not long until they were in the main shopping centre in Washington. Morrison and Jenny struggled out of the car, uncomfortable in their formal wear to be walking through a mall of all places. As soon as they walked into the entrance, Morrison caught the metallic glint of a watch in the window. He recognised this to be the Rolex Daytona, one of the latest and most expensive models. He pulled his wife’s arm, “Come on, Jenny! This is perfect!”</p><p>Jenny reluctantly followed him in the store, rolling her eyes; “I really don’t think we should be spending our money on something so expensive for Donald.”</p><p>Morrison snorted, “It’s not <em>our </em>money we have to worry about, dear. It’s the taxpayers’. All those stupid Australians will be helping my partnership with Donald and it’ll keep me in for another term!” He noticed a shop attendant looking at him in alarm and he quickly wiped the malicious grin from his face.</p><p>“Sir, may I help you?” He was a young man, with far too many pimples to count. There was no way he came from a privileged background. Morrison shuddered at the thought of this greasy teenager handling such an expensive present.</p><p>“I want that watch.” Morrison said. “And please, use gloves.” The young man looked confused, unsure at the man’s request. “Come on!” Snapped the Prime Minister, “Time is money!”<br/><br/>The shop attendant awkwardly walked over to the counter to fetch a couple of gloves and then to the window display. He shakily took the watch out and showed it to Morrison for confirmation. “Yes, alright, I know what it looks like. Get it gift-wrapped. Hurry!” The watch shook in the gloved hands as the young man rushed to the counter, fumbling with the wrapping.<br/><br/>“That’s it,” He snapped, clearly frustrated by the younger man’s incompetence, “Don’t bother with the wrapping. Just put it in one of those gift bags.”</p><p>Tears in the shop attendant’s eyes, he handed Morrison a tacky tartan gift bag, the watch inside. “That will be… 20,895 dollars please.” He choked. Given the meagre wages he received, it was probably three times the amount of money that was in his bank account.<br/><br/>Morrison immediately inserted his credit card into the EFTPOS machine, typed in his pin quickly and the purchase was finally confirmed. Shoving the receipt into the bag, the couple rushed to the entrance of the store, where the limousine picked them up. Morrison breathed a sigh of relief. Now all that was left for them to do was to get dressed and head to the White House.<br/><br/><br/>*<br/><br/>“Scotty, my boy!” Donald Trump boomed as he gave a wrist-crushing handshake to the Australian Prime Minister. Morrison smiled back at him; trying to hide the grimace on his face from the pain he was experiencing. How was it that a hand so small could cause such pain? He really needed an icepack. Looking at his hand for any bruises, he noticed his fingers were slightly streaked with orange spray tan. Jenny and Melania kissed the air as they gave each other an extremely light embrace. There was absolutely no joy in seeing them, for the Morrisons were not favourites of the Trumps. Still, they were needed for something. Such was the life of politics.<br/><br/>Morrison handed over the tartan gift bag, slightly embarrassed that they did not have time to get it gift-wrapped. “Happy birthday Donald.”</p><p>The president snatched the gift bag from him, opening it up immediately. When he took out the watch he merely responded with an “Oh.”</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Morrison asked nervously.</p><p>“Looks just like the watch I got from that Russian guy. Oh well, thanks.” Dumping the watch back in the tartan bag, he gave it to his wife, expecting her to take care of it. Melania instantly took the bag from him, holding it in her hand like a dutiful wife. Morrison almost felt sorry for her, but it was a fleeting feeling before Trump yelled out in joy as soon as someone else had entered the room.</p><p>“BOJO!”</p><p>Boris Johnson, Prime Minister of the UK grinned boyishly at Trump as he gave him a solid hug, both men clapping each other’s backs. Watching them from a distance, the bleached mop-like hair on the two men made them look almost like brothers. Morrison could not help but to feel slightly jealous. “Donnie, I’m so glad to be here. I was missing the states far too much.” Johnson sung out, accent so posh it made Morrison want to gag.<br/><br/>“Tell the Queen I say hi.” Trump said, putting his arm around Johnson’s shoulders, “Where is your lovely wife?”</p><p>“Can’t fly at the moment. Pregnant. You know how it is.”</p><p>“I’m so proud! Please call him after me!” Trump exclaimed warmly. Morrison expected the British PM to look disgusted at this order, but instead the man only smiled.<br/><br/>“I wouldn’t call him anything else, my dear friend. By the way, I have a present for you.” Johnson handed over a wrinkled paper bag to the president who looked at it as if it were the best thing in the world. Morrison wrinkled his nose. How could something like <em>that</em> be better than the tartan bag! Trump peered into the bag and gave him a sly wink.</p><p>“You shouldn’t have.” At this point, Morrison was desperate to know what its contents were that had given him such a reaction. As if reading his thoughts, Trump drew out a large, white t-shirt with the words <em>I </em>♥<em> NY</em>. He grinned from ear to ear. Morrison was baffled. It was the tackiest, corniest present to give to someone. Why, it was just from a market stall for tourists! And this was the president of the United States, who had lived in New York.</p><p>“This makes me so homesick. NYC may be full of dumb liberals, but boy do I miss that place.” Trump remarked.</p><p>“There’s more!” Johnson cried excitedly.</p><p>Trump reached into the paper bag to draw out a chocolate bar. “Hershey’s! I love this chocolate. You remembered…” He held it against his chest lovingly.</p><p>Johnson grinned, “Of course I did, Donnie. Why, I even ordered one in the UK just so I can taste it for myself. But please, there’s still one more thing.”</p><p>Like a small child in a toyshop, Trump excitedly took out what appeared to be McDonald’s coupons from the bag. “I freaking LOVE that place! The only good quality cuisine out there.”</p><p>But as soon as Morrison caught site of the golden arches, he felt his stomach shift slightly. These were only a bad memory for him, harking back to that time in 1997. Engadine Maccas, after the Cronulla sharks had lost the Grand Final. It was a defeat that was enough to make him lose his lunch…but in the worse way possible.* He felt his stomach playing out again and was afraid of a repeat. “Can I please use the bathroom?” Morrison asked anxiously.</p><p>“Go down the hall, second door on the left.” Trump directly, boredom in his tone. Morrison bolted to that direction and fortunately did make it there in time before there was any real disaster. As he was washing his hands, he could hear a giggle. He turned off the tap and went to investigate. He wondered how long he had been on the toilet for. He knew it was perhaps too long for his liking and knew he was missing out on something.</p><p>“Oh Donnie, stop it!”</p><p>“Come on, just this once.” Trump drawled sleazily.</p><p>“Okay then. Make it quick, chop chop!” Was it Johnson? The voice sounded British, but Morrison could not be certain.</p><p>Morrison crept out of the bathroom and walked down the hall, following the voices as best he could. He then stepped into the Oval Office. The room emanated so much power, it made him feel so small. How did someone like Trump manage to get this position, he wondered to himself. The laughter still continued. He could have sworn it came from the bookshelf. Gently, he prodded the bookshelf, to which it slid to one side, allowing him to walk through a passageway that led into what looked like a bedroom…<br/><br/></p><p>There was a king-sized bed, flanked by golden curtains. The curtains opened up to reveal the president wearing tight, leather pants. The pants seemed to struggle to keep hold of the exposed, flabby belly, creating a muffin top. He was standing over the UK leader, who was wearing nothing but a pair of dark blue boxers, the Union Jack emblazoned on them. In the president’s hand, there was what appeared to be a riding crop.</p><p>“Jesus Christ.” Morrison gasped in horror, quickly covering his mouth as he accidentally mentioned the Lord’s name in vain. <em>Forgive me, Lord</em>. He hoped that the sight of what he had witnessed would not send him to hell. He did not condone this kind of monkey business.</p><p>Trump glared at Morrison. “What the hell are you doing in here?!” He yelled, “You can’t just barge in here. This isn’t like Australia you know.”</p><p>But Morrison ignored the president. An idea came to mind, one where he could possibly use what he just saw to try and get what he wanted. “Actually, now that you mention Australia, I was wondering: Why don’t you give us the same benefits you have always given the UK? Since, after all we are trying to break away from relying on China.”</p><p>Trump laughed, “In your dreams, pal!”</p><p>“Oh?” Morrison grinned, “Well then in that case, I can bring this up with the media and see what they have to say about your preferential treatment to the UK.”</p><p>Trump walked over to Morrison, riding crop still in hand. A nerve had been hit. He stood with his back straight, trying to look down upon the Australian leader. “Then I’ll just say it’s fake news.” He murmured. “You’re forgetting that I <em>am</em> the leader of the free world.”</p><p>Morrison tried not to let the president overwhelm him, “You’re also forgetting that Rupert Murdoch owns much of the media. He and I are good friends.”</p><p>The president did not look at all intimidated by that, “Big deal. So are we. What is your point?”</p><p>“Gentlemen, come on…let’s try and come to some agreement,” Johnson started to say.</p><p>“Shut up you stupid pom.” Snapped Morrison. “We’re having a serious discussion.”</p><p>“No, <em>you</em> shut up.” Trump lashed back, “You ruined a very important moment between Johnson and I. If you don’t leave, I’ll ban you from the White House and all other functions.”</p><p>“This isn’t over.” Morrison grumbled, turning away. He decided that he needed to speak to Trump alone. He could not let this man get to him and he did not want to destroy the strained relations that were already between the two countries.<br/><br/></p><p>*</p><p>The rest of the evening was awkward and embarrassing to say the least. The politicians and their respective partners sat together at a table, toasting champagne and eating a feast of McDonald’s. Morrison struggled to carry on as normal. Knowing that Trump was actively favouring the relations of one country over his own disgusted him. How could Australia be treated like this?</p><p>“Excuse me for a moment.” Morrison said, getting up from the table. There was one thing he had that he could potentially use against Donald and it was in a black briefcase in the boot of the limousine. “I have to get something from my car.”</p><p>“Please, not another Rolex!” Trump cried, to which a burst of laughter followed. Morrison felt slightly hurt to see Jenny laughing along at a joke that was directed to him.</p><p>“Are you okay, Scott?” Jenny asked, as she noticed Morrison leave the table. There was concern in her eyes as she touched his arm. “You’ve barely touched your meal. You’re not still thinking of what happened in ’97 are you, darling?”</p><p>“There’s just something I’ve got to sort out with the president. <em>Political</em> business.” Jenny nodded, letting go of his arm. She knew what it was like being married to a politician: just had to accept things as they were without explanation. It did not bother her. Furthermore, any direct questions about politics would prompt her husband to ramble on for over two hours, and she did not want to fall asleep in the White House.</p><p>Morrison retrieved the key from the chauffer to the limousine, removing the briefcase that was in the backseat. He then returned the key. Walking back to the presidential ballroom, he felt somewhat relieved. He walked to the table, stood directly behind Trump and tapped him on the shoulder.</p><p>Confused, the president spun around and looked at the Australian with wide eyes, “What do you want?”</p><p>“I have something that may concern you to do with the relations of our nations. Please come with me.”</p><p>Reluctantly, Trump got up and walked over with him. Johnson got up from his chair, eager to accompany him. But Trump dismissed him with the wave of his hand, “This is just between me and Australia.” Johnson looked on helplessly, genuinely worried for his greatest ally. Even though Trump had acted so brave all the time, he was also like a giant baby.</p><p>“Let’s discuss this in the Oval Office.” Trump grumbled, leading the Prime Minister down the hall. “What the hell is so important anyway that you have to interrupt my birthday?”</p><p>“Let me put it in a language you will understand.” Morrison explained ambiguously. When they arrived in the Oval Office, Morrison placed the briefcase on the table, still latched.</p><p>“You think you can sway me with money?” Trump laughed, not even bothering to unlatch the briefcase and take a proper look inside. The arrogance of the man was normally maddening, but to Morrison, it was oddly endearing. “Forget it, Scotty! I already have so much of it.”</p><p>“Try again.” Morrison said, gesturing at the briefcase. Trump looked slightly offended having guessed its contents incorrectly. “Go on, you can open it. It is, after all <em>your</em> birthday.”</p><p>Gingerly, the president fumbled with the latches with his small, stubby fingers. Finally, he opened the briefcase. Inside it was a pair of handcuffs, a leash and a riding crop that looked to be twice the size of the one Trump had. Wide-eyed, he looked back at Morrison. It was the first time Morrison had witnessed the noisy American speechless.</p><p>“Are you going to examine your new gift?”</p><p>Trump laughed, but it was strained. It was obvious he was trying to mask the fear that was evident in his eyes. “What kind of present is this?! They better not be made in China.”</p><p>“Nope. 100% made in Australia. Top notch quality.”</p><p>The president shook his head in disbelief, picking up one of the handcuffs. He gazed at it intently, not realising Morrison was walking closer towards him. “Oh…it <em>is </em>made in Australia. Are you expecting me to dominate you, Scotty boy? Because I already have a sub.”</p><p>Suddenly, he felt the cool steel snap against his flabby wrist and he gave out a shout, letting go of the handcuff. Against his knowledge, Morrison had cuffed one of his hands. Taking advantage of this shocked state, Morrison cuffed the other hand. The Australian leader smiled, seeing the president’s sheepish expression. “No, Donald. It’s about time someone <em>else</em> was in charge.”</p><p>The president’s mouth gaped, “You can’t come in here and order me around!” He protested.<br/><br/>“Why not? That’s what you’ve been doing since you’ve been president?” Morrison pointed out. He picked up the riding crop, pointing to Trump’s trousers. “Take them off.”</p><p>Trump laughed, tears coming out of his eyes and ruining his tangerine complexion. “Never. You’re fired!” He pointed a jabbing finger at Morrison, although it was a struggle with the handcuffs. It was so much harder to use the populist power he had normally taken advantage of when his actions were restricted.<br/><br/>“So fire me. But you’re the one cuffed. So I suggest you shut that filthy mouth of yours. God would be ashamed of you.” Morrison lectured, peering down his glasses. “Go on…” He beckoned in a more gentle voice, “Or I’ll have to take them off for you.”</p><p>“I’m not letting you do anything faggy like that to me.” Trump said determinedly. With a bit of a struggle, he managed to unzip the fly and then take the trousers off completely. He kicked them off, his tangerine legs shaking.</p><p>“That’s a good boy.” Morrison murmured, patting Trump lightly on the shoulder with the crop. “Now kneel before that oak desk of yours, if you really think you deserve that position of power.”</p><p>“I’m not doing that!” Trump snapped.</p><p>Morrison sighed and then to the president’s horror, he took out the leash. Trump backed away. But despite his best efforts to escape, he tripped over the discarded trousers over the floor. As he was trying to get up, Morrison took the opportunity to quickly attach the dog collar around his neck. He gently tugged the leash. “Now let’s get this over with. You follow through with my orders or I’ll make this even harder on you.”</p><p>“I’ll destroy you for this!” Trump cried, but it came out like a whimper. Morrison pulled the leash a bit harder this time, causing Trump to topple over. He struggle to maintain his balance and as he did so, he realised he was cowering on all fours. He felt the crop slap against his buttocks.</p><p>“Come on, Donald. Just walk around the Oval Office with me and we’ll forget this ever happened.”</p><p>“I’m not doing whatever the hell you’re asking me to do! You sick freak!” Trump spat. But Morrison’s expression remained unchanged, and he continued to tug at the leash. Reluctantly, Trump began to follow him on all fours, the handcuffs cutting into his skin and slowing him down. He struggled to keep up with the Australian, who began to walk a bit more briskly around the office.</p><p>A surge of pain came once more as Morrison beat his backside again. “Keep going!” Toupee now drenched with sweat, the president struggled to follow the Prime Minister’s pace, howling in pain.</p><p>“Come off it, Donald. It doesn’t hurt that much. Stop being a little bitch.” Morrison chided, tugging the leash again. Trump continued to crawl, swearing under his breath as he did so. Morrison then used the crop again, only this time it slapped against his nether regions.</p><p>“Oof!” Trump gasped, before this painful cry turned into one of pleasure. Morrison raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the reaction of the president.</p><p>“You enjoy that?” Morrison asked with a cheeky grin, “Keep walking and I’ll do it again. Don’t stop!”</p><p>Trump panted as he crawled around, his limbs quivering in pleasure as Morrison continued to whip him. Although he was exhausted due to this being the most physical activity he had done, Trump continued to crawl along, moaning as he felt himself being slapped again and again.</p><p>“That’s it!” Trump cried, white trails on his face where the tears had been. He could not take it anymore and the strong man persona had well and truly crumbled. “That’s it! I’ll never make Australia my bitch again! I’ll sign anything you want!”</p><p>“Anything?” Morrison asked with a smile.</p><p>“Yes! Just take this off me! And don’t you dare tell anyone else about this, or I’ll say it’s fake news!”</p><p>The threat did nothing to shatter Morrison’s newfound confidence. It seemed so pathetic, coming from him. He realised the president was not so powerful after all. Reaching into the briefcase, he took out a small silver key and tossed it to Donald, who was more than happy to be free of the cuffs. Sheepishly, Trump went over to the table, where Morrison began taking out the new alliance deal between the US and Australia.</p><p>Without hesitating, he signed the agreement. Then, the pen dropped from his hand and his matted head fell against the oak table. Strange sounds came from him, and it was unclear whether or not he was laughing or crying. Perhaps it was both. But as soon as Morrison’s back faced towards him, Trump began furiously masturbating under the table, hoping that would eliminate the hard-on he was experiencing from that humiliating ordeal.</p><p> </p><p>“Happy birthday Mr President.” Morrison said at last, recognising the sobbing moans of pleasure as he left the room. With the document in hand, he felt overjoyed at having succeeded in getting a proper partnership with the US. Now what was he going to do about the bulge within his own pants?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*Footnotes for explanations</p><p>“Morrison felt his cheeks burn as he remembered handing the Queen a cheap tartan bag with a book on Thoroughbreds as a birthday present”: This was inspired by a true event when the Prime Minister had given the Queen a Winx Biography during his first meeting with her in 2019. This was met with a lot of ridicule by the media and the public and it was also the event that had inspired me to write this story. I have slightly exaggerated the event by making the Queen less approving of the present, and making it a birthday gift instead, just to add to the theme of the story. You can read all about the true event in the link below.</p><p>https://www.abc.net.au/news/2019-06-05/scott-morrison-gives-winx-biography-to-queen/11179646 </p><p>“It was a defeat that was enough to make him lose his lunch…but in the worse way possible”: This was in direct reference to some rumours that emerged about Scott Morrison soiling himself when watching the 1997 Rugby Grand Final in McDonalds. During the Mid Winter Ball, when responding to these rumours, the Prime Minister said something along the lines of “You won't get to hear... what really happened at the Engadine McDonalds in 1997…It will remain a mystery of the ages."<br/>Whether or not this is a true event remains to be seen. But here is an article of the PM’s words for you to make up your own mind on this. </p><p>https://10daily.com.au/news/politics/a190919pwsua/scott-morrison-finally-addresses-lingering-engadine-maccas-jokes-20190919</p></blockquote></div></div>
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